My Heart Forever
by Heart of a Music Box
Summary: Alfred knows he loves Ivan more than anything, and has decided to give him the one thing that will prove it.


"Are you absolutely, truly sure you want to go through with this, comrade?"

"For the eleven-fucking-millionth time, Ivan! I fucking said yes the first time!"

Ivan sighed warily, giving the bindings on his companion's wrists a firm tug to be sure they were secure. Alfred's body, nearly nude save for a pair of boxer shorts-decorated rather festively with his flag-and tied rather tightly, wrist to wood, to the Russian's bedposts. His glasses had been removed and set daintily on the bedside table. His ankles, bound as strongly as his wrists, were immobile. Upon his very request, the American had been rendered utterly helpless.

"No need to be so vulgar; I only want to be sure. You only have one heart, and I know it will bite me in the rear later on if I do something you do not like."

"When I say I wanna do somethin', I mean it! Alright? Plus I already ate yours, so it's fair even if I didn't want to."

Another sigh, and Ivan climbed onto his bed to straddle his comrade's hips, clenching a fair-sized carving knife in one of his hands. He was fully-clothed, contrasting greatly to Alfred, in his winter coat and heavy scarf, combat boots and thick wool pants. His hair was moist with sweat on his forehead and was disrupting his view as it hung in his eyes. He was still, calm on the surface, but in his mind he shook like a Latvian.

"And you're absolu-"

"Yes, already! Yes! Now cut me open!"

Ivan obeyed, marking Alfred's otherwise flawless skin with the knife. He slid it down cleanly, making a light, clean scratch across his chest vertically. His actions were so eerily familiar that his hand shook; it seemed like only yesterday that he'd allowed Alfred to do the same to him.

"You won't get to it that way, fuckin' Commie."

"…silence yourself, comrade. Your lungs swell from your speech and will get in my way."

A pout scrunched the American's face as he quieted, and Ivan continued. He dug the knife in farther, hearing the squelch of tearing tissue and watching the blood begin to leak from the gash. He worked steadily, at one set pace as he widened the wound, catching his breath and resisting the urge to taste as the muscles beneath Alfred's skin began to come into view. Occasionally, he stole glances at his face, hoping to God or whoever was listening that the painkilling drug had worked to the fullest. Not a flicker of discomfort appeared on Alfred's face, and so the Russian continued.

"You're like an artist," Alfred's voice startled him, as did his loving tone, "you're so intricate with how you're working. It's sexy."

Perhaps he'd over-drugged him.

"What did I say about talking, Alfred?"

"Mmm," he could hear the pout, and from his perch would see those deliciously-pink lungs expand and contract, "that you love my voice?"

"No, that it makes your lungs expand. Silence yourself."

Alfred emitted a quiet giggle and was silent once more. Blood was now literally pouring from his chest and onto Ivan's stark white sheets, falling in a cascade that put Alfred's brother's prized waterfall to shame. The scarlet of the American's life source reminded the Russian vaguely of rubies. Thousands of tiny rubies, melded and melted together into an enormous pot shaped like a human body, overflowing their containment and spilling out to feed the masses…

Ah, there it was.

Alfred's back arched as a gloved hand closed gently around his pulsating inner muscle, squeezing ever so slightly with his fingertips and letting his eyes widen with desire. Ivan had finally reached it, through what felt like mountains of flesh and tissue. He'd finally reached his heart.

The pressure on his chest mounted as he pulled it farther out, and soon Alfred could see it, still beating by the veins attaching it to his body. It was sopping wet with his blood, and his eyesight was becoming blurred. He saw the desire in his lover's eyes as he gazed at the beating organ in his hand, and moaned his name in a shaking voice.

"Ivan…Ivan…oh, Ivan, please…"

The Russian tore his gaze from the treasure throbbing in his hand to stare into Alfred's eyes, becoming more and more glazed each passing second. His body was dying, and despite understanding how it would all play out in the end, he felt a horrible pang of remorse.

"D-do it…please…eat it…"

Ivan obeyed.

Blood spurted from between his teeth as he clamped down onto the heart, oozing down his chin as he bit off his first chunk. Chewing slowly, he savored the flavor of Alfred's blood, bitterly sweet with a tiny hint of spice. He ran his tongue over the portion in his mouth, reveling in the durable yet spongy texture of the cardiac muscle, melting in his saliva and grinding into mush between his teeth. He swallowed, and the near-orgasmic feeling of the heart he'd loved for so long sliding down his throat sent his hips thrusting forward.

Alfred's eyes were closing, they'd dulled in color, and his natural rebellion against his restraints had slackened. His blood was beginning to flow more slowly; his body was truly close to death as the remaining veins connecting his heart to his body were snapped.

Mind blank from hunger and heart filled with the desire to devour, Ivan chomped down again.

~ * ~

"How are you feeling, comrade?"

"It's so strange…"

Alfred's bindings had been untied, and the two lay together amongst freshly-cleaned, warm sheets. They lay in a shared embrace, with Ivan's head resting comfortably on the American's chest, not an inch down from his newly-stitched and bandaged wound. Alfred's hands lay positioned gently on Ivan's shoulder blades, warm against the Northerner's naturally cool skin. The sun's rays bathed them through the uncovered window, and a small smile appeared on Ivan's pale face.

"What's strange?"

"I can still feel it beating, but it isn't inside of me anymore. I'm not connected to it, but I can still feel it like I am. Is that how you feel?"

"No, comrade. I could never feel my heart to begin with. Actually, before you ate it, I'd almost forgotten I had it."

"That's comforting."

With a chuckle, Ivan leaned up and planted a tender kiss to the bridge of his companion's nose.

"I try, my love, I try."

"Well, you succeed…" the pout had returned, and their embraces simultaneously tightened, pressing Ivan's nose and lips back against the American's hot skin.

"After all, I just gave you my heart."


End file.
